


Cruel

by lyriumandbiotics



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Heavy Angst, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 08:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21176438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyriumandbiotics/pseuds/lyriumandbiotics
Summary: I wrote this a few years ago as part of a prompt list. I came across it recently and wanted to re-write it. The prompt was "cruel", and features Alistair visiting Surana's grave one year after the blight. Heavy on the angst, slight mention of suicidal thoughts.





	Cruel

Alistair's breath puffed out in clouds before him, his fingers almost numb, even though he wore gloves. The sounds of his horses's hooves on gravel was the only sound he heard. It was too cold for anyone to be outside, he thought. The clouds overhead were thick and grey, threatening snow. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head to protect his ears from the wind. Had it been this cold last year? Alistair didn’t think so, but he had been rather preoccupied at the time, so he couldn’t say for sure. 

A year ago to the day they ended the Blight. Well, Anabel had ended it. She had been the one who plunged her sword into the Archdemon’s neck, slicing it open from brains to belly. She killed the Archdemon, herself along with it. The Hero of Ferelden, they called her now. She’d always been a hero to Alistair, though. Anabel was the reason they accomplished anything at all, he’d only been along for the ride. 

Of course, Alistair had gone to her funeral, though he didn’t remember much about it. Hundreds of people had turned up for her. Humans, elves, and dwarves from all corners of Ferelden crowded the streets, singing songs in her honour. Alistair sat on the dais between Leliana and Wynne as they prayed and sang. He spoke to few people, and when they sought him out, the only thing they talked about was how brave Anabel was. How noble she was. How selfless. As if Alistair didn't know that already.

After the funeral ended and everyone left, Alistair wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Everyone he cared about was dead. He was alone again. Of course he was still a Grey Warden, but even that had lost its luster. So he’d spent the better part of the year wandering around in a fog, no home to speak of, no friends, and no family. Wynne urged him to visit Anabel’s grave more than once. 

_‘It might make you feel better,’_ she wrote in one letter, _‘it might give you some closure.’ _

_‘Not bloody likely,’_ he wrote back,_ ‘but I’ll try.’_

Of course, he hadn’t gone. Days turned into weeks, and then months, and still Alistair was not brave enough to face it. He wasn’t sure what it was that scared him, but every time he thought about making the trip he felt sick. But Alistair was not about to let this day pass without acknowledgement. Now that it was the anniversary of her death, Alistair forced himself to swallow his feelings. He rode his horse halfway across the country to Denerim to visit her. Although it had been a year since he’d been there, Alistair knew exactly where to go. He hopped off his horse and tied her to a post at the gate. The wind howled through the trees, whipping dead leaves around him as he made his way into the graveyard. 

Anabel was buried along the last row of graves under a large willow tree. Alistair remembered thinking how much she would’ve liked that. She loved nature, and having a nice tree to lie under would’ve made her quite happy. The grave was small and unobtrusive, another slab of stone among the hundreds of others. The only difference being hers was full of flowers, gifts, notes of remembrance and thanks. It seemed as if everyone wanted to come see the Hero of Ferelden’s final resting place. Alistair reached the stone, but once there, he was unsure of what to do. It felt as if he’d swallowed a rock, and once again Alistair thought he might be sick. 

“Uh, hi,” Alistair said, but his voice came out weak and hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m not sure what people usually do in these situations. I know you’re probably expecting a joke or a witty comment. You always said you loved that I could make a joke about anything. Well, sorry to disappoint you, love, but I’m drawing a blank.” 

Alistair knelt beside the headstone. The frozen ground hurt his knees, but he ignored his discomfort. He cleared away some of the older flowers that crowded the base of the stone and put them aside. There was so much he wanted to say to her, so much he would say if she was there with him. The Chantry would have him believe that she was still there, with him, and could hear him if he spoke. But she was not there. Not really. He was talking to a slab of stone and some cold earth. Alistair sighed and drew a rose from the inner pocket of his cloak. 

“I brought you something. It’s the one I gave you, remember? We had only just met, and I told you it reminded me of you, because it was so beautiful. Heh, saying it now…Morrigan was right. It is rather cheesy. I couldn’t help it. I was in love with you. Head over heels, Wynne said. Hopeless, Morrigan said. It's all true. How could I not be? I’d never met anyone like you before.” He twirled the stem of the flower between his fingers. Memories of their time together came back to him one by one, and he couldn't help but smile. “But my cheesy line worked! The day you told me you loved me was the best day of my life. I spent the entire next day grinning like a moron. Of course, Morrigan teased me all day and Leliana had this...smirk. I didn’t care. You loved me, and I felt amazing. For the first time in my life someone loved me. Someone wanted me. I was sure I would spend the rest of my life with you. Amazing, really, that someone like you could love someone like me.” “Lucky me. Anyway, I took this the day you…the day you…fought the Archdemon. I don’t know why I took it. I guess I wanted something to remind me of you. I wanted to feel like you were still with me. I want you to have it, though.”

Alistair used one finger to dig a small hole at the base of the headstone. He pushed the flower into it, then packed the soil around it so it wouldn’t fall over. Anabel had put a spell on it so it would never wilt, and its red petals made a stark contrast to the pallid grey stone. After that, Alistair sat in silence for several minutes, reliving the days he’d spent with Anabel at his side. She was the most amazing person he’d ever met. After all the hardships she’d endured living in the circle, losing her friends and family, she was still kind and generous. She wanted to help everyone, no questions asked. Being around her made Alistair feel stronger, almost invincible. Without her, the world was a dark and dreary place.

Tears came to his eyes, and he thought it useless to wipe them away. “It is cruel,” he croaked, “that the Maker would bring us together, only to tear us apart so shortly after. You took everything when you left. You took all the colour from my world. All the comfort and warmth, gone. It’s not your fault, I know that, but I’m...I'm so.."

Angry. Angry was the word he wanted to use, but he stopped himself. Alistair had no right to be angry with her. None of this was Anabel’s fault, it was his. It didn’t have to be this way. If only he’d gotten over himself and done the ritual with Morrigan. Why didn't he? Because he didn't love Morrigan, that's why. He couldn't do that with someone he didn't love. Such a stupid ideal to cling to as the world was collapsing around him. He wished he could go back in time and talk some sense into himself. If he could, Anabel would still be alive.

“Selfish," he continued, "I was selfish. It would have been easy, it would have meant nothing, and you would still be here.” Alistair reached out and grasped the cold gravestone. He wished it was his name etched there. “It should have been me. I meant it to be me. Everyone would be better off. Why didn't you let me?” 

Alistair felt as if all the strength had been sucked out of his body. His lungs didn’t have enough air in them, he could no longer hold himself upright. His forehead rested on the frozen ground as sobs escaped his throat. He could taste dirt in his mouth, but he didn't care. There was a bottomless well of despair in his chest that threatened to swallow him whole.

“I’m sorry,” he cried. Alistair knew it was senseless to be saying it now, since Anabel wasn't able to forgive him. He didn't deserve forgiveness anyway, but he wanted to say it anyway. He needed her to know. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

It was a long time before Alistair was able to compose himself. He cried, bent over on the ground, until there every ounce of his soul was empty. Eventually the tears dried up, and his breathing returned more or less to normal. He took some deep breaths of frigid air, dried his face with his cloak, and sat up. Snow was falling now. Big, thick flakes floated around him, already coating the ground. Anabel always loved the snow, because growing up in the circle meant she never got to enjoy it. Alistair smiled as he remembered Anabel trying to catch snowflakes on her tongue, her hair glistening as if coated in gemstones.

Was it a sign? Was Anabel trying to tell him something? Wynne would say yes, he thought. She believed in things like that. Alistair wasn’t sure what he believed, but he still found it comforting. Finally, he stood up, brushed the dirt off his knees and straightened his clothes.

“I will never forget you,” he said to the gravestone, “and I will always love you. I promise to try to be the person you thought I was. I will try to make you proud.”


End file.
